march on, oh heart of mine
by Sly as a Fawkes
Summary: Love is timeless...A collection of drabbles about what holds the heart of each character
1. victoire

**a.n. So I've decided that I want to try a chapter thing. It's not an actual story, although something might spawn out of one of these. Each chapter is going to be relatively short, and about what each character loves (or is passionate about).**

**Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

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><p>Victoire has always been a dreamer. Her whole life she's been surrounded by real life happily ever afters (HarryGinny, RonHermione, MamanPapa), and damn it all to hell, she wants hers.<p>

But the cycle of shy kisses and first dates always seems to revolve right back to hot tears and broken hearts. Because try as she might, Victorie can't find that fairytale guy who loves her for her (and not for her shimmery blonde hair and forget-me-not blue eyes.)

And she always gets _thisclose_ to just giving up and shelving those fairy tales away. Because her hopes are glitter- pretty to look at, but if you hold them too tightly it all slips through your fingers. And Victoire is finding it harder to muster her strength and pick up all those shimmery pieces each time some boy knocks them to the ground.

But every holiday she goes home and witnesses the proof that yes, _yes,_ it can exist. And she will find it. Because Victoire is in love with her future happily-ever-after and is determined to reach it (and so what if her quest causes her gaze to pass over the boy with the rainbow hair and heart on his sleeve?).


	2. rose

_You'll never be good enough_ you think as you ponder (glare) at your reflection in the mirror.

Because, let's face it, you don't have what everyone else does. You don't have Lily's fiery curls , or Victoire's killer blue eyes, or Lucy's perfect figure. You're Rose, and you have brown (boring) eyes with the not-quite-brown-not-quite-red hair that frizzes and knots at all times and the gangly frame James finds oh-so amusing.

And really, what guy would look at _you_ when the rest of you're perfect family stands around you?

Especially _him._

Cause he's got the (perfectly) tousled blonde locks and the "fuck me" grey eyes that make all the girls swoon. And a cheeky smirk to top it off.

And _god_ you just hate how this makes you feel. You hate how shallow you've become, reduced to staring in the mirror and picking out all your flaws. You used to scorn and mock the other girls for their utter devotion to their reflections. But hey, hypocrisy might as well now be your middle name.

You hate hating yourself and you hate this feeling and you hate that _he's_ the one causing it.

But you just can't seem to hate _him_. No matter how many times you try, you can't make your feelings for _him _be anything but L-O-V-E.

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><p><strong><em>a.n.<em> If anyone really wants a certain character written about, you can write it in a review *wink wink* and I'll try to make it happen.**


	3. hermione

**a systematic approach**

Ask Hermione Granger any question, and she will dedicate her full mental capacity to solving it. She will not rest until the answer has been discovered and presented (with a surge of pride on the side). In her twelve years, she can count on one hand the number of questions that she couldn't find the answer to (three).

So now ask Hermione Granger what she loves (and uh-oh we've hit four).

No, no, no, give her a minute to think, to reason. Give her a moment of quiet and she'll think through this systematically and logically and you will get your answer in no time.

(Hmm...)

Working off of a reliable definition, Hermione Granger will first answer that she definitely loves her parents (_Love (v.): __a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person__). _That's a good, safe answer. How can she not love her mother and father? And she loves school. Sure, it's not a person, but people can love things too. And to learn and to fill her head with knowledge, well, Hermione Granger absolutely loves that.

But Hermione Granger will dig a little deeper. If there are more answers, Hermione Granger can and _will_ find them.

Harry Potter, she will answer next, a little tentative, but sure enough. Hermione Granger loves Harry Potter. Sure, she hasn't known him for that long, but in the almost two years they've been friends and what they've been through, she thinks that it would be impossible not to have made a connection like that. She thinks of him as her best friend, and from what she's read, people tend to love their best friends. Plus, Hermione Granger kind of sees Harry Potter as the brother she never had, and if she's right (and let's face it, she usually is), she thinks he feels the same way. Two only children, through a strange set of coincidences, have sort of became brother and sister. And Hermione Granger is reasonably sure that she considers that a form of love too.

Ah, what a relief. Hermione Granger has found the answer once more. _What does Hermione Granger love?_ Quite simple, really. By systematic reasoning, Hermione Granger can answer that she loves her parents and learning and her best friend Harry. This wasn't a difficult question. Honestly, thinking she couldn't answer a question as easy as that...

(And if you ask about that red haired boy that she spends a large majority of her time with? The boy that when she's around sometimes, her stomach does this funny twisting thing? Well, Hermione Granger will answer you that _that_ is _not love._ _That_ is something else _entirely_.)

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><p><strong>a.n. Thanks for reading.<strong>


	4. molly II

**_stand out_**

Molly (II) thinks that sometimes, the idea of being lost in the crowd has never applied to anyone as much as her.

And sometimes she thinks that she's got it worse than most other people. It's just so _easy_ to be forgotten in _this_ crowd. They're her _family_. She can't simply leave and hope to be someone rememberable elsewhere.

So she tries to stand out. Looks, brains, personality. Anything and everything she can to not be the one Weasley who is never remembered, the one that people have to think about before they can place her with a name.

But everyone already stands out so much it's hard to compete. Victoire has the looks, Rose has the brains, James has the personality. Roxanne is the sweetest, Fred is the funniest, and her own sister is half of what many at Hogwarts consider the "cutest couple."

She's just the girl with the hand-me-down name and the inability to free herself from the shadows.

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><p>It's summertime and the sun is losing the battle to stay in the sky. Molly sighs as she feels the heat of the day ebb away and wishes that it could stay just a little longer.<p>

She's retreated from the party in the Burrow to a little meadow just down the hill. The grass is still warm from the sun's rays and the tall weeds sway in the breeze. Though she can hear the voices from the Burrow, no words are discernible and Molly feels something akin to peace as she lies on her back, staring up at the darkening sky.

Small vibrations underneath her and the sound of footsteps alert her that another presence has joined her. The body sits next to her, but Molly doesn't say a word.

"I was wondering where you went," Lucy finally breaks the silence.

"Where's Lorcan?"

Lucy shrugs. "I suppose back up there. I came to talk to you, not him."

Molly isn't quite sure how to respond, but she's saved from having to do so when more footsteps are heard.

"There she is," Roxy says. Molly finally looks away from the sky to watch as Roxy and Louis flop onto the grass, Louis resting his head in Lucy's lap.

"Wondered where you went, Molly," he says, followed by a yawn. "Disappeared on us."

"Looks like the others were wondering the same thing," Roxanne adds with a laugh, as Victoire and Dominique glide gracefully to where the group has settled comfortably on the ground, James and Fred right behind them.

Ten minutes later, and Molly finds herself still on her back, Lucy still by her side and Louis still resting in her lap. Hugo's head is pillowed by Molly's stomach, while Dominique's head has slumped onto Victoire's shoulder. James and Fred sit back to back, while Lily has clambered into Roxy's lap. Albus and Rose half-heartedly punch each other over the bit of grass they both claim is the softest to lie in.

Molly catches herself laughing with everyone else as Fred threatens to hex a boy who's had his eye on Roxy. Louis whines petulantly when Lucy shifts into a more comfortable position, and Molly feels like her heart wants to explode from the happiness.

So yeah, maybe she can't get have perfect grades or tell the funniest jokes, but she's got the best family in the world and they love her. And that makes her a stand out all on its own.


	5. remus

**a.n. For ink-stained dreams, who wanted Remus. I'm glad she asked, I liked writing this.**

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><p><em>love (and guilt)<em>

Remus Lupin awoke slowly and reluctantly, his limbs harshly protesting any departure from the warm cocoon of his blankets. But his stomach growled with impatience; he was always hungrier than usual after the full moon. With a sigh, Remus swung his legs over the edge of his bed, wincing at the soreness of his muscles and the pain of the numerous bruises and scratches that covered his skin.

Eventually, he managed to slowly walk, grimacing all the while, from his room to the kitchen. He made close to no noise as he journeyed, and so when he rounded the corner to peer into the small room, the other person was not aware of his presence.

Remus stared at his mother, all thoughts of food wiped from his mind. She was clothed in an old robe that was beginning to fall apart at the seams. Her lank hair was unkempt. Her pale hands gripped the faded mug of tea in front of her, as if hoping to draw some warmth from liquid.

But it was her face, her expression, that tore Remus apart. The lines in her face were etched with worry. Her eyes managed to be filled with grief, despair, and emptiness all at once.

Remus knew that his transformations were incredibly difficult on her, but this was the first time that he was afforded a glimpse of just how much pain he was causing her. With the death of his father, Remus and his mother only had each other in terms of family, but Remus could now see just how much pain and hurt that his love for her and her return of those feelings were causing.

Maybe he made a small movement, caused a creak in the floorboards or a rustling of clothes, but suddenly his mother turned to the doorway that led out of the kitchen and into the corridor. She jolted out of her seat, and quickly came to her son's side.

"Oh Remus, you're awake. How are you feeling? Hungry? Thirsty? I'll have food ready in just a minute. Sit down and rest." She pushed him, albeit gently, into her recently vacated seat and began bustling around the tiny kitchen, pulling out dishes from the cupboard. The haunted expression had been replaced by one of love and care.

Remus felt sick.

"...and it's about time we got you some new robes. School is starting up again soon, and your old robes are just too short to keep for another year..." his mother continued, filling the silence with trivial nonsense, all in an attempt to keep her son from remembering what he had to suffer the previous night, keep his mind from focusing on the pain of the recently acquired wounds.

His mother stopped talking when her fourteen year old son wrapped his arms around her tightly, putting as many unspoken words as possible into the embrace. She returned the gesture, unaware that as Remus buried his face into her shoulder, he was attempting to bury the guilt that burned within him.

* * *

><p>"Quit the worrying, Moony, I'm <em>fine<em>..."

"Honestly, it was only a scratch..."

"Yeah, and Padfoot has had _much_ worse..."

"_Shut up_ Wormtail..."

Remus let his friends words wash over him. He knew that they were attempting to ease the guilt that filled every fiber of his being...but it was to no avail.

The new Hogwarts nurse, Madam Pomfrey, had accepted the Marauder's lies about the truth of Sirius's injury (he had tripped and fallen on one of the numerous suits of armor, which had gashed open his leg) with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. But Remus knew the truth.

Two nights previous had been the full moon. The giant stag and dog usually could keep Moony at bay, but the werewolf within him had proved angry that night. Remus had woken in his usual bed in the Hospital Wing to an empty bedside. He had found this strange. Usually Peter or James or Padfoot (or some combination of them) would be waiting for him to wake.

And then just a few hours later, James and Peter had to carry Sirius into the Hospital Wing, the left leg of his trousers soaked through with blood. Remus had watched in shock and horror as the nurse flocked to his side, demanding answers while she hurried to heal him.

"We couldn't bring him up here immediately," Peter had whispered to Remus later as Sirius slept. "It would seem suspicious if he arrived with a giant gash the night after the full moon."

"It was hell trying to get him to transform back," James had added. "The pain didn't help. When we did, he told us that we could heal him ourselves, so we took him back to the dorm. We tried everything..."

"...but he came down with a fever," Peter had continued. "So we had to change his clothes so the wound seemed fresh, and cut the trousers to make the story seem real."

Remus looked around at his friends now, sitting on his bed and eating chocolate. Madam Pomfrey had discharged Sirius hours ago, but they had stayed to keep Remus company. _And to keep me from feeling so guilty_, Remus thought bitterly.

"Stop thinking so much, Moony," Sirius said, his tone nonchalant as he flicked a stray speck of chocolate from the bedsheets. "You know our rules on thinking."

"Sirius, you could have _died_." Remus's voice was hoarse from the lack of use over the past day and a half, but now he finally had to speak. "Do you not understand that?"

Peter nervously glanced over his shoulder to discover Madam Pomfrey's whereabouts, but the young nurse was in her office, oblivious to the conversation being held.

Sirius's eyes had darkened, but the cheerful expression on his face didn't waver. "Oh Moony, don't be so melodramatic. Died? Please..." he scoffed, biting off a large mouthful of the chocolate bar.

"I...I can't let you guys do this anymore," Remus said suddenly. His chest wrenched with pain as he envisioned the future full moons without his friends by his side, the pain he would have to endure...

"Don't be stupid."

All three turned to stare at Peter. Even he seemed shocked by his authoritative tone, but he continued on. "We're not ditching you, no matter what you say."

James's eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline, but Sirius clapped his hands together. "Well put Wormtail! Our rodent friend speaks the truth. Now," Sirius swung his legs off the bed and stood, "I'm off to the kitchens to plunder and pillage what food I can to bring back. Any requests?"

James and Peter quickly answered enthusiastically, but Remus sank back into his silence. He watched his three friends (_bestfriends bestfriends bestfriends_) squabble and quarrel, and once more felt the guilt wash through him. Who was he to deserve such friendship? He was a monster, and yet these three stood resolutely by him, determined to love them as he loved them. He knew better, but it couldn't be stopped.

_Love and guilt_, he thought to himself as Sirius marched out of the Hospital Wing, James and Peter continuing to call out food choices. _Never one without the other for me..._

* * *

><p><em>Love and guilt<em> he thought to himself once more, as he had done those many years ago in the Hospital Wing, surrounded by his friends.

He was no longer surrounded by his friends. James, dead for almost fifteen years. Peter, as good as dead to Remus for the same length of time. And Sirius...

God, it hurt to even think his name. Several months had passed since that terrible night in the Ministry, yet time had done little to ease the pain.

It didn't help that he was still in Grimmauld Place. He half expected Sirius to come out from the shadows, grumbling about being cooped up inside this dusty house.

Instead, he was seated at a table, pretending to listen as various members of the Order gave their reports. His mind wandered back to the original musing, _Love and Guilt_, and the reason he had stumbled on such a depressing thought.

Nymphadora Tonks was seated across the table and two seats to the left, gazing intently at the current speaker. A parchment and quill lay on the table in front of her, but Remus had yet to see her take any notes. This puzzled him, until he realized that if she turned to write, she might make eye contact with him.

He sighed deeply. Nymphadora had made no secret of her feelings for him, asking him to dinner several times. Eventually, he had to tell her that something between them was never going to work, and she would do well to find someone else.

That had been the hardest part, for Remus _did_ harbor some feelings for her. She was beautiful, in an entirely unconventional way, but that was not the sole reason of his attraction to her. She was smart; she had to be smart to be an Auror at such a young age. She was funny and entertaining to talk to. Her clumsiness was endearing.

And yet...

And yet he was so wrong for her. He was old (_thirteen years too old_), and poor (_who would ever hire him..._), and dangerous (_...the werewolf?). _Nymphadora was so full of life; she deserved someone youthful who could live life to the fullest with her. Remus was not that man.

But she was hurting, he realized as she continued to stare with absolute concentration at the speaker. His refusal had hurt her. He might not see the rest of the Order much anymore (underground work for Dumbledore), but the few times he did see her, Nymphadora was not the colorful young woman she had once been. Her hair was a mousy grey, and her eyes were dull. Had he really done this to her?

_Love and guilt, _he thought once more. _You chose the right course for both of you, and you still end up hurting her..._

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><p>A long time ago (<em>once upon a time, it seemed<em>), Remus, Sirius, and Peter had dragged James out of his and Lily's flat to a small pub for his nineteenth birthday. They had gotten completely hammered, and stumbled back to the flat, laughing at the stupidest things that came from their mouths. Lily had rolled her eyes at them when she saw the state they were in, but thankfully hadn't tossed them out. Instead, the four of them spent the night in the tiny living room, sprawled on the couch or floor, tossing stories back and forth, telling tales of mischief, boasting about who received the worst detentions. One by one they fell asleep. Remus was the last to succumb to dreams, but before he did, he felt as though his heart was so full of _something_ that it was going to burst.

That _something_, he realized now, as he gazed at his sleeping son, was love. Simply, purely, love.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edges of the crib. He knew what he must do, and yet the love that flowed through him had stuck his feet to the floor.

"Remus?"

His wife's quiet inquiry registered, but he did not turn his head to look at her. Remus couldn't bear to see the pain in her face with his next words.

"You have to stay here."

Silence.

"You have to stay here for Ted. He...he needs you."

"Remus, _you_ need me. _They _need me. They need everyone they can get."

Remus shook his head, still staring at his son. The baby's chest fell ever so slightly, his hands clenched into fists. Slowly, he reached down and brushed a lock of bright blue hair.

He could stand it no longer. Taking three long strides, he closed the distance between him and Dora. She gazed up into his face, her calm expression betrayed only by the moisture threatening to spill from her eyes. As slowly as he had brushed his son's hair, Remus bent and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. When he drew away, Remus couldn't find the words to say.

_Stay. Please. I love you. I'm Sorry._

As he spun where he stood, his wand clenched in his hand, Remus heard his heartbeat in his hears. _Love. Guilt. Love. Guilt._ A never ending cycle.

_I'm sorry Mum. James, Sirius, Peter. _ _Dora. Teddy. I couldn't help but love you, and I'm sorry for the pain it brought._

Maybe one day he could love without the guilt it brought.


	6. audrey

_Cause we'd all like to find a little magic..._

xxx_  
><em>

It starts like this.

Your parents were the no-nonense kind of people, all logic and cool reason and not a hint of imagination. Both were doctors, and from a young age you knew you were supposed to grow up to be a doctor, too.

But the nanny would read you stories of fairies and unicorns, princesses and the gallant knights that loved them, and you knew that was your future. A future of castles and magic and singing animals.

The nanny was chastised, of course, for "filling your head with nonsense," and your heart absolutely broke. The tears fell hot and fast onto your pillow, remembering how bad it hurt when your dad took you by the shoulders and proclaimed that _there was no such thing as magic_.

xxx

You graduate high school, valedictorian. Your parents arrive halfway through your speech and don't clap at the end of it.

You go to a big name university, a pre-med student. The classes are impossible and the work you have to do each night makes you want to break down into tears. You start four letters to your parents, telling them about your decision to switch majors, to drop out, to quit life, but you rip each one into a hundred little pieces and flush them down the toilet.

You return home for summer vacation after your second year, displaying your excellent report card that cost you a social life, sleep, and happiness to achieve. In July, you're given the task of cleaning out the attic and come across a dusty box with even dustier books inside. Your hand brushes across a volume of fairy tales with yellowed pages. _There is no such thing as magic..._

xxx

You return to school in September and immediately switch to a degree in English literature. Your parents scream and yell and show some sign of emotion for the first time in years, but you've passed the point of no return. It doesn't matter if they won't pay for your tuition; you'll pay it all if you must.

And you decide that while you're completely doing a one-eighty, you might as well go abroad. See the world. Within a week you're set to study in London for the next semester.

The accents, the weather, the people...everything draws you in. You fall in love with the city, fall in love with late nights, fall in love with the taste of cigarette smoke on your tongue and the feel of a stranger hand on your thigh.

Sure, the calls and letters and demands of _GET HOME NOW _stain your life, but that's nothing that a couple drinks can't fix.

xxx

You're wandering the streets at two in the morning one day late in May, just a little drunk, and with no destination in mind. Somehow, you make it to the park on the outskirts of town that you found last week and discover that a man is already there, sitting motionless on one of the swings.

Some little voice in the back of your mind urges caution, tells you to turn around and leave, but that little voice drowns under the liquid courage you have coursing through your veins and you march over and plop into the swing right next to him.

He has pale skin and bright red hair, blue eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses and a deep sadness etched into the lines of his face. He can't be that much older than you, you decide. You can feel him appraising your dyed jet black hair and bright red lipstick, those pretty blue eyes wide and confused.

You open your mouth to say something witty, something charming, but that part of your brain must have been tampered by the shots you took back at the club, so instead all that comes out is, "This isn't my real hair color."

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Oh. Um, what, ah, what is it then?"

"Blonde."

He nods slowly. "I see."

You sigh deeply, staring up at the sky. "Why are you sitting in the park so late?"

His splutters and coughs and his awkwardness can't help but make you smile. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I suppose you could." You giggle, the absurdity of the moment catching up with you. "I'm trying to find something," you finally answer, all logic and reason disappearing as you decide to discuss your life with a stranger at 2 AM in a London park.

You turn your gaze back to him and find that he's staring at you with utter confusion. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the adorable expression. "Now answer my question."

He stares at you for a moment longer before glancing down at his shoes. "I'm...thinking."

You nod seriously. "Always a good choice of action."

His lips almost quirk into a smile but his thoughts catch up with him and he falls back into the sadness you found him in.

"I'm looking for magic," you say, elaborating on your previous answer. His alarmed expression registers in your peripheral vision but you shrug it off. "What are you thinking about?"

His eyes are wide as he disregards your question. "M-magic? What on earth do you mean?"

You shrug. "Just...magic. I'll know when I find it."

You can tell that he doesn't want to drop the matter. He knows you want give any more details though, so he sighs deeply and grips the swing chains tightly. "I'm thinking about my brother."

You make an "ah!" sound in the back of your throat. "I wish I had a brother. Or a sister. Any sibling really."

"I have six," he says quickly. Suddenly the overwhelming sadness is back. "Five. I have five."

And then you understand why a grown man would be sitting on a child's swing in a deserted park at two in the morning.

"Can I walk you home?" you ask, and stand up before he gets the chance to answer. You grab at his hand, surprised by your own impulsiveness, but he willingly stands and allows you to tow him away.

There are tears glistening on his cheeks but he still manages a shaky, "Shouldn't this be happening the other way around?"

Maybe you've got a few tears of your own, but a quiet laugh escapes you. "Yeah, maybe."

You lead him to his flat after he gives you the address and only once your standing outside the entrance do you remember that you don't know his name.

"Percy," he whispers when you ask. "My name is Percy."

"Audrey."

And when you give him the lightest of kisses you think you might just be on the path to finding what you're looking for.

xxx

It starts like this.

Charlie regales everyone with his tales from the reserve while George prods his wand at a stack of fireworks that light up the night sky. Lucy squeals as she chases a gnome through the tall grass and Molly offers you a handful of dandelions that she picked. Percy's arm tightens momentarily around your shoulder and you can't help but grin, knowing you found the magic at last.


	7. james

_James Potter's 10 Favorite Things_

Lily snorts, shooting a look at Mary sitting next to her. "What the hell is this?"

Mary shrugs, her eyes focused on the front of the room. The corner of her mouth curled into a small grin. "It got passed to me to give to you. Just read it."

Lily rolls her eyes and looked back down at the list, written on a piece of crumpled parchment. She rereads the title once more before looking up and scanning the room.

Ah, there he is. Stupid Potter, sitting with his stupid friends (well, maybe that's not fair to Remus, but he does choose to spend time with stupid Potter), looking stupid. He catches her eye and grins, miming holding a piece of parchment and reading it. When McGonagall's back is turned, he mouths _"read!" _and points at the parchment he's still holding. Sirius laughs quietly beside him while Remus just sighs.

"C'mon, Lily, what does it say?" Mary inquires, finally abandoning the pretext of listening to the lesson. Lily just manages to hold the parchment out of reach when Mary makes a grab for it.

"Hey! It's for me!"

"Yes, well, you're not reading it fast enough!"

"Will you give me a bloody second then?"

"Just hand it over! I'll read it!"

"Evans! Macdonald! Is there a problem?"

Professor McGonagall's stern voice breaks through the girls' whispered argument. Lily's face reddens as stupid Potter attempts to smother his laughter in the front of the room. "Not at all, Professor."

"Then I expect no more interruptions. Especially from a prefect. Is that understood?"

Lily nods, and when McGonagall turns her back, punches Mary in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Shut up!"

Mary rubs her arm dramatically, muttering something about an ice pack, and cranes her head over Lily's shoulder as the two begin to read.

_James Potter's 10 Favorite Things_

_1. Lily Evans_

_2. Beautiful red hair_

_3. Stunning green eyes_

_4. Lily Evans_

_5. Dates to Hogsmeade_

_6. Girls that have a knack for Potions and Charms_

_7. Lily Evans_

_8. Not getting hexed after pouring his heart and soul out to a certain fiesty red head_

_9. Sly attempts at asking out (please refer to #5)_

_10. Lily Evans_

And written at the bottom, in three different types of handwriting:

**11. SIRIUS "THE GREAT" BLACK _Remus Lupin (the true great) _**Peter "who do those other two think they're fooling I'M the greatest" Pettigrew

Lily only barely manages to contain her horror. Mary only barely manages to contain her mirth.

"This is-this is absolutely-the stupidest-" Lily splutters, traumatized by Potter's most recent attempt to "woo" her.

Mary's giggles subside just enough for her to mutter, "Oh c'mon. It's kind of cute."

Later that evening, when Lily is lying in her bed, contemplating the hex she used after Transfiguration to make Potter's skin shift through all colors of the rainbow, she decided that maybe (and this was purely playing the Devil's Advocate), just _maybe_, his list was, in fact, kind of cute.

But that of _course_ did not matter. Not at all. If she thought it was actually cute, she wouldn't have gone and stomped all over #8 on stupid Potter's stupid list.

Right?


End file.
